


Et dans mes rêves tu m'aimes fort

by AnaVakarian



Series: Du Mortain Scribbles [9]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Adam speaking French, Emotional Constipation, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Just another nightmare, Language Kink, Nearly but not quite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:22:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,534
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26664373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaVakarian/pseuds/AnaVakarian
Summary: The Detective Eve Greene wakes up from another nightmare and she decides to get off the bed, get some coffee and practise that song that she cannot take out of her head lately. And, right then, Adam comes into the kitchen...
Relationships: Detective/Adam du Mortain, Female Detective/Adam du Mortain
Series: Du Mortain Scribbles [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2086392
Comments: 14
Kudos: 29





	Et dans mes rêves tu m'aimes fort

**Author's Note:**

> The song this whole fic spins around is Aime - Loane.  
> https://lyricstranslate.com/en/aim%C3%A9-loved.html
> 
> ***
> 
> Title: And in my dream you love me. 
> 
> Translation of the lyrics I use: I would like you to come, that you take from me the most beautiful things. Pours from my eyes the desire to be loved by you.
> 
> If you could tell me everything... Because nothing is worse than hiding the words that my mouth has said. The desire to be loved by you.
> 
> Ah, how hard it is not to be loved by the loved one...

It has been one of those nights. Just another one of what seemed to be becoming ‘normal’ in my life lately. The nightmare is always the same: the old and wrecked abandoned warehouse, the strong ferrous scent of blood and the terrifying certainty that I will die in Murphy’s hands. 

I ran as fast as I can, following the gloomy narrow corridor towards the light, but it doesn’t matter because he always catches me. One of his hands slides around my waist while the other fists my hair, tipping my head to the side to expose my neck. His slender fingers caress my dark damp hair as he sniffs me like a dog of prey.

I cannot breathe. My heart pounds in my chest. 

And, then, he bites me, an unbearable pain coursing through my body. And I scream, defenceless. 

I always wake up on the same part of the nightmare, panting and terrified with what I would like to say is a distortion of my memories. But it is not. That happened. Murphy really happened. And it doesn’t matter how deep I try to bury the memory of his fangs ripping my flesh open: the scar is still there. His imprint on my skin: healed, but still visible. Life goes on when I’m awake, but it seems that my subconscious-self is not keen on letting it go while I sleep. Well, at least, and on the bright side, even if the nightmares are still hounding me, I have grown to be less affected about them. 

I sat on the bed, breathing deeply and trying to calm down. After running a hand over my forehead and raking my fingers through the mess that my long hair is, I decide to give up on sleeping: it’s nearly 5 o’clock anyway, and my alarm is set up at 6. I try to cheer myself up - and soothe my memories - thinking of the wonderful imported coffee that Rebecca has bought for me in an attempt of an easy fix-it for our broken relationship. 

I got out of bed feeling the plump and fluffy carpet under my feet, and the sensation seems to ground me back to reality just a bit. However, I still have one hour to kill before going to work. Perhaps I can do something productive with it... So, in a desperate attempt to forget about the nightmare, I grab my guitar with my still slightly shaky hands. That guitar Felix got for me when he knew playing was one of my hobbies and that I would be spending more time, and some nights, here at the Warehouse. 

I could definitely do with some coffee too.

Everything is dark in the corridor, as I cannot find the switch for the lights anywhere, and I secretly envy the super vampire senses that make that sort of blind wandering easier. And, as I was expecting, I trip over with something, bumping my bare shin onto a small table that is oddly placed on my way. 

“Fucking shit…” I whine under my breath, being barely able to repress a cry of pain.

The blow and my muttered swearing echoes in the dark as a drum roll, and I am more than sure that I must have woken up my vampire friends. 

But, after a little while of silent listening, everything remains quiet.

That obsession of Felix with cluttering everything around! At least I don’t knock down the antique lamp that was over it, no doubt Nate’s property... 

With a massive bruise on my leg and the blunt memory of my nightmare undermining my subconsciousness, I can foresee that today would be _one of those days_. 

I arrive at the kitchen and close the door behind me. And I exhale with relief: at least it is empty. 

The delicious, expensive and aromatic coffee cheers me up a bit. It was the best way Rebecca has found to crawl her way into my forgiveness for her absences. So, after making a cup of it, I scatter all my guitar tabs over the kitchen table together with the lyrics of the song I’ve been trying to learn: Aimé, from the french singer called Loane. I studied French at high school and had a lovely summer in the South of France with an exchange family, paid by a mother who, despite her absences during nearly my whole live, took very seriously my education, investing quite a lot on it. 

Recalling those sweet and sour memories with a thin smile, my eyes flicker through the first page of the lyrics, pinching the strings randomly in an attempt to tune them. I like that song. It has nearly gotten to the point of obsession. Perhaps because the lyrics touch deep into my soul, now more than ever. 

When I finally strum the strings, the first chord sounds like shit - my fingers are not on the correct position - and it takes me a while to find the correct pronunciation for some of the words. Not to say the difficulty of putting them together with the thrumming pattern of the song... But, after some unsuccessful attempts, I’m able to get a very pale shadow of the original version.

_Je voudrais que tu y viennes,_

_que tu me prennes_

_ce qu'il y'a de plus beau._

_De mes yeux ont coulé_

_des envies d'être aimée de toi._

…

Thinking of the words that have just left my lips, my fingers freeze. “Damn it… Why am I doing this to myself?" I scoff bitterly, shaking my head and lowering the guitar. My eyes are lost on the damn piece of paper that is speaking the truth of my ‘it is more than complicated’ love life louder than anything else around me. 

Why Adam is still denying his feelings and sinking my hopes deeper into the void with his vagueness is something I cannot understand. 

I cannot brush away from my soul the warmth of his icy green eyes and his fleeting - and scarce - tender smiles. The ones he gifts me with on some very rare and intimate occasions when no one is around to tell me that I'm not insane. That I'm not losing my mind. 

And, right then, as summoned by some sort of sorcery - in this supernatural world everything is possible… - Adam enters the kitchen, and a tide of mixed-up feelings clenches my stomach. 

It was some days ago that we found each other in similar circumstances, in the training room. And we ended up arguing: I challenged him and he ran away like a scaredy-cat. 

But today I am just too tired to repeat that scene again. Emotionally and physically tired of that cut and thrust game. I don’t want to play anymore.

“Nightmare?” he asks me with a low neutral tone while I keep teasing the strings. But I look up at him and his icy green eyes soften when they meet mine. Although it lasts just a second before his stern expression is back, full strength. Probably after his failed attempt at not sliding his gaze down my bare legs. 

“Same as always…” I exhale tiredly, making his frown sink deeper if that’s even possible. “But I’m all right. I don’t know why my subconscious is playing tricks at me…”

“It was a traumatic experience. It’s perfectly normal to experiment nightmares.”

I scoff a bit at his seriousness although I can not come up with anything else to say. So I just remained quiet, my fingers fumbling through the strings.

“Would you like another coffee?” he asks after a little while, once he is done examining me with a certain level of concern. 

But before I give him the answer, the Commanding Agent of Unit Bravo grabs my empty cup and marches towards the kitchen behind me, filling the kettle up in silence. 

A silence that grows tense between us now more than ever.

“You couldn’t sleep either?” I ask quietly in a terrible attempt to make some conversation. 

“I did sleep. But someone tripping over with the table on the corridor woke me up…” 

I swear that I hear the slightest hint of wittiness in his words and I actually scoff at them, turning around to face him and figure out if that has been the case. But Adam has his broad back on me while scooping the coffee out of the tin, white t-shirt tight enough to let me map the muscles of his upper back and shoulders with ease. 

I cannot help but think of how they would feel under my touch, but I order myself to brush the thought away. 

“Sometimes I truly forget that is impossible to hide anything from you...” I complain, matching his sarcasm. 

“Your heart rate changes, both when you are awake and asleep. Not to mention the actual noise you made around the house. And the swearing…” he states with his matter-of-fact tone that does nothing more than annoying me further.

“Ok, ok… I get it. I’m easily readable. Thanks for the privacy,” I cut him off, perhaps a bit sharper and far more ironic than I should.

Adam doesn’t reply. He remains quiet while I hear him pouring the water into the cups. So, I decide to get back to my song, murmuring the words in a barely audible whisper. Then, he pads back towards me and sits on the chair across the table, close enough but at a safe distance, leaving the steamy cup in front of me. 

_Si tu pouvais tout me dire..._

_Car rien n'est pire_

_que cacher les mots_

_de ma bouche j'ai dit._

_Ces envies d_ _’_ _être_ _…_

I get stuck a couple of times with the chords. However, before I can finish the last sentence, he interrupts me with a very gentle voice that I have only heard him use on very rare occasions, mostly when we are both alone and he is trying to make up for some of his emotional constipation. “I think the word you want to say is _pouvais_ … and _envies_ ,” he corrects softly with a slightly different pronunciation. 

I gaze up at him with a frown, unsure about what exactly he is referring to. And his green eyes meet my blue ones with an unsuspected intensity before reciting. “ _Si tu pouvais tout me dire… Car rien n'est pire que cacher les mots de ma bouche j'ai dit. Ces envies d_ _’_ _être_ _aimé de toi._ ”

I don’t have to be a vampire to hear how my heart audibly skips a beat at that verse leaving his lips, the words melting my soul to its bare bones and it truly exasperates me that can’t avert my gaze from his eyes. 

_Shit_ … 

Adam is miles away from what I would ever consider ‘my type’: blond, for starters, far too build-up to my taste, stubborn as an ox, devoted to the Agency and his work, so stern that it hurts… Not to mention the fact that he is driving me nuts with his feeling denial. Things between two people that are attracted to each other should be easy: friendship, sex, and perhaps love later on. He has pushed me away so many times just to pull me closer after that I’m just too confused. 

And too fed up too. 

And, even so, here I am, my eyes locked in his emerald ones while listening to the lyrics flowing like silk from his lips, tangling on a string of melodic words that had the same effect on me than a cup of hot chocolate in a cold winter night. 

I repeat the lines awkwardly, my fingers drifting on the strings. “ _Ces envies d'être aimé de toi..._ ” And, to my surprise, he doesn’t avert his gaze, his green eyes emanating a warmth I’ve never perceived before. 

Perhaps it is because I am reckless, or because I want him not to stop looking at me as he is doing right now, but I decide to push my luck and carry on singing. 

_Ah, qu’il est dur_

_dene pas être aimée par l’aime…_

Adam smiles, softly and melancholic. And I feel it to be so out of place in his usually stern and stiff appearance that it makes me stop playing, confused. 

“This is a… curious choice of a song,” he mutters, his eyes lingering over my face as trying to read my thoughts.

My smile turns sad and a deep feeling of longing invades my body like a tiding wave. My usual boldness comes back to lift the filter I usually put on my own words. “Quite appropriate, don’t you think so?”

Every hint of a smile disappears from his lips and his green gaze turns deep and sorrowful, like a bottomless ocean. 

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. But his eyes are still fixed on mine. Before can realize, his hand rises to my face and I feel the warmth of his fingers on my skin, caressing my cheek with delicacy. As if he was scared of bruising me. 

And I lean into the contact like if that caress was the only thing that could keep me afloat in a sinking world.

“Do you feel like the song says? Do you think that’s the case?”

My heart winces with his questions. 

“I don’t’ know anymore, Adam... You tell me. Is it?”

Just for a parted second, I see through him. Through his contained mask. His longing, his desires, his feelings, his doubts… His green eyes slip to my lips, hesitant. It would be very easy for me to bridge the distance between us. To kiss him and make him forget his doubts. To make him aware of what it could be. What it would be.

But I won’t. Because it’s not my call to make. It is Adam who has to make up his mind, not me. And, to my delight, he leans imperceptibly towards me and the hand caressing my skin stills at the nape of my neck. 

My breath hitches. My heart stops. 

He halts for an instant, like asking for a permission that I’m more than willing to give. Or doubting, like fighting his inner self about what he intends to do. 

I exhale slowly and my lips part as an invitation that he takes as such. 

Adam leans forward, anticipation itching on every muscle in my body. Expectancy bubbling in my chest.

He is so close that I could even feel the warmth of his breath hovering my lips.

And, right then, my phone rings. 

And, like if everything had been just a dream, the moment shatters into a million pieces, scattered in the wind.

In the blink of an eye, Adam pulls back from me and I curse mentally for the perfect timing of my alarm clock, sighing in frustration. 

He sits up on the chair and clears his throat without meeting my gaze and I turn off the damned alarm. 

It’s too late to fix it: the moment is already broken. Besides, I can hear steps on the corridor, probably just Nate joining us for breakfast. 

However, and just before he pulls his unemotional mask back on, Adam whispers. “That last line… I hope you know that’s not the truth, Eve. I... do care about you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don't forget to leave kudos or comments if you liked it. Or if you want more ❤❤❤  
> ***  
> Follow me on Tumblr [AnaVakarian](https://anavakarian.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
